by Brindi Quinn
“That’s correct,” I tell her. But I won’t reveal the most unsettling bit of ‘insider information’ because there isn’t a reason for her to know. The heptagonal symbol has just become my concern and mine alone.
There is only one species with the ability to conjure a shadow-brought flame. Only one. And they aren’t of Sil’s world; they’re of mine. They ARE mine.
Without a doubt, a daem made the white ash used. And it sure as hell wasn’t me.
“What is it, demon boy? Why are you lost in your head?”
I shake her care away. “Why did your minion think it was candy?” I ask instead. “White ash does not taste sweet.”
Sil thinks about it only briefly. “Maybe it only tastes sweet to humans. You’ve got all kinds of other weird food phobias, so maybe it’s just a matter of your taste buds being broken.”
Yeah. Right. Either that or he LIED. I must find out.
“Pay no regard to what I said before,” I tell her. “Go on and have a taste, won’t you, Sil?
“Ick no!”
Fruck.
Wait, fruck? Dammit, what’s becoming of me!? Out of frustration, I rub my horns that no longer exist. Because they no longer exist, it only makes me feel fouler.
“Wow, demon boy. Turns out you did know something useful. This stuff is made from bone – safe to assume from the dug-up body’s bones. But the symbol is small, so that means that the guy who drew it has either a bag of parts under their bed OR a few jars of white ash. Whichever it is, you proved yourself handy. Nice work. Guess it means I have to try agai-”
“Not now.”
“Hah?” Sil isn’t disappointed, just surprised. “Okeydokey.”
“My curiosity’s been piqued,” I declare, standing and handing her the glass. “Shadow-brought fire isn’t something humans can conjure. As it was painted after my arrival, I’d like to figure out the symbol’s function.”
“As it was painted after your arrival? Whoa, you don’t think the spell has something to do with you!”
“Don’t get overly excited. I told you: I’m only a little curious.”
But that isn’t true. The coincidence of a daem’s substance being used so close to Sil’s house sometime in the days since I landed . . . It’s upsetting. There are many spells that use white ash. Locating. Summoning. Binding. The latter is what has me concerned. As I’ve said before, being a prince of the underworld comes with a smidgeon of baggage. And it also comes with a cacophony of enemies.
Entrapment in this realm by said enemies?
The worst thing I can imagine.
Pondering such, I storm away from the symbol. The church. The graveyard. All of it. The chances that there is some connection between the symbol and me are great – yet there aren’t supposed to be any other daems around here on work or on holiday. It isn’t exactly easy to access the realm of humans.
Troubling.
Sil lazes behind. “Sure you don’t want to try again?” she calls. “Final offer.”
“I don’t feel up to it.” The thought of being stuck in this place is nauseating.
“Suit yourself, demon.”
I say nothing to combat the jab. I continue to push across the leaf-infested soil, victim to my own unwanted trepidation, until Sil’s feet come pattering through the brush to catch up with me. From the corner of my eye, I catch her studying me. With eyes that are gray. With a mouth that is small and musing.
“I’ll help you if you want,” she pipes after a bit.
I scoff at her. “I hardly need your assistance.”
“But you’re worried, aren’t you? You’re worried that a witch is after you or something?”
I stop and raise a brow at her. “A witch, Sil? Really?”
“Well, sure. Who else uses spells? Warlocks?”
Actually, there is a wide array of creatures that use them, but that’s neither here nor there.
She goes on, “Look, I’m not real sure on the specifics, but I can tell that you’re even more moody than usual. And that means you’re uber worried. So if you let me help, maybe I can . . . I dunno, distract you or something. Wouldn’t that be good?”
“Ur. I suppose . . . maybe.”
“So it’s settled! We’ll work together to figure out the mystery of the octagon!”
“Heptagon,” I correct.
“Right!”
But Sil doesn’t care about the differentiation in the least. In the aftermath of our agreement, she grins devilishly to herself, and I come to realize the truth: She wasn’t worried about me at all. Rather, she wanted to gain my help with figuring out the upturned grave.
I’ve been played by the toy.
Sneaky little –!
But as we break through the forest into Sil’s sunlit backyard, her evil smirk is replaced by something that almost resembles sincerity. “Really, Wayst, there’s no point in worrying,” she says, and for a second of stillness her eyes shine. I am caught. In the midst of transfixing on those sexy pools of blue . . .
My mouth moves on its own. “All right,” I mutter, spelled. “Let’s try again, Sil. Right here. Right now.”
Au contraire, Sil responds with out-of-nowhere tenacity. “No way! You had your chance, Mr. Demon!”
Cousin Stache’s bathtub sonata fills the air. Sil joins his soundtrack with laughter on her teeth and simper on her lips.
I’ll kill her. Before this is over, I’ll definitely kill her.
But I might not get a chance. Depending on what sort of spell was cast by that marking; depending on which daem acquired the white ash; depending on their intentions . . .
It’s more important now than ever that I get home quickly.
Chapter 4: Bonding?!
Cousin Stache left four days from our discovery of the heptagon. It was a parting I was none too despairing over, for I do not lament the lack of bathtime warbling in the slightest.
It’s rained since his departure. The symbol is no more. And I am no closer to figuring out its meaning. Not that I’ve had much to go off of. Memory and memory alone. And memory hasn’t served me well. It doesn’t help that I’ve sensed no netherworldy energy from any of Count’s Fieldbo’s population – which, by the by, has just grown by one.
After a rare few days without intruder – excepting me, of course – today we welcomed a new traveller to Sil’s humble abode. I use ‘welcomed’ in the loosest of senses. After only a brief encounter with her leathery body this morning, I can already sense she’s a broad I ought to stay far, far away from.
Lady Libido is a woman short-haired and full-hipped and with all of the unsavory appeal of a pent-up, has-been newsanchor. On this particular afternoon she sits at the kitchen table, practically dripping with pheromones past their prime, painting her toenails orange to match her eyeshadow.
Back home there is a term for youth-sucking women like her. We call them succubae.
Oh, here the correct term is ‘cougars’? I see.
Moving forward.
In celebration of the weekend, Sil’s chosen to wear sagged capris accompanied by a ripped t-shirt and baggy vest. The attire of a homeless person digging through the leavings of a preteen’s garage sale. Sil is a slob through and through. Upon entering the kitchen, she plops a heel into place beside her aunt’s – or whatever their relation is – and begins to scrutinize her own unpainted daggers.
“Gross, Sil,” I tell her. “Really, shave your legs.” More so it’s for the sake of my sanity than for Sil’s own good.
“Why? You don’t shave your legs, so why should I?”
“Because you are a woman and are therefore expected to maintain at least an ounce of feminine character.”
“Is that so?” Sil rubs a hand up her prickled calf. “Well it’s only been a week or so. I plan to shave. Just not today. Maybe tomorrow or something.”
Great. Tomorrow. Sil is alike a caveperson.
Lady Libido takes no notice of us – of neither our conversation nor the fact that we’ve entered the kitchen at
all. She simply continues to dip the sticky brush into the vial and slather it onto her skeletal nails.
What an odd family.
Sil removes her foot, hairy toes and all, then slumps to the cupboard and searches until she finds her prize – some sort of toaster pastry, which I’ve dubbed ‘breakfast bricks’. She throws the wrapper into the sink, and without bothering to heat it at all, takes a gerbil-esque bite. “Help yourself to milk, demon boy,” she sniggers, mouth full. “Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone today.”
“Excuse me? Where is it that you’re going exactly? We are without class.”
“Research. But don’t worry. I won’t make you tag along or anything. You can just hang out here in a puddle of your own darkness and –”
“Ahem. What research?”
“Nothing much. Just going to the library to read up on that octagon we found.”
“Heptagon.”
“Whatevs. Anyhow, stay out of my room while I’m gone. And I WILL be gone for a long time. You know, getting important research things done. Unless . . .” Sil fakes being coy. “You have nothing better to do? Unless maybe you want to come along? I mean I can’t really blame you. It’s not like you have hobbies or friends or . . .”
Oh. I get it. This is another one of her games. She’s attempting to bait me. To tempt me.
Well, I know a thing or two about tempting, and there’s no question I can outwit a stupid girl like her. Keeping a cool face, I respond,
“No thanks.”
I pick up the litter from the sink and toss it into the proper receptacle and wait for her to change her snide little demeanor.
But she does nothing of the sort.
“Okay. Later.” After an uncaring shrug, she waves to Lady Libido before promptly heading out the front door.
WHY THAT LITTLE –!
I’m at a loss. Of course I wish to go with her. The mystery of the symbol is still hanging over me like an alp’s veil. Regardless, there’s no way in hell I am chasing after her – especially not after that crafty, pigheaded display!
“You’d better hurry, pancake,” Lady Libido gives her two cents. “Otherwise you’ll be left all alone with little ol’ me. All of that idle time together in this empty house . . . I wonder whatever we’ll find to do.” She draws her finger seductively along the edge of the table.
Egad! Not with her aged body! Shuddering, I shun the cougar and run chasing after Sil. I’m not opposed to random acts of sex . . . but cringe!
The twit hasn’t even made it past the front walkway. “Oh?” She smirks. “What’s this? You’ve decided to come after all?”
“How old is that woman!?”
“In there?”
“Yes, in there! To whom else would I be referring!?”
“No clue. Maybe like early fifties? Why, what’s wrong?” Expression goony, she adds, “Pancake.”
She heard. The idiot girl heard! Mortifying. And what’s worse is she’s acting cocky about it.
“Make no mistake,” I hiss. “Call me ‘pancake’ again and I’ll choke you in your sleep. Horns be damned.”
“Geesh. No need to get so uppity. Thought you’d be pleased to have a woman’s affection, pancake.”
“Don’t test me, Sil.”
I’m not joking. My veins are beginning to bubble.
But Sil won’t heed my advice. “Come on. Lighten up, pancake.”
The autumn day is bright, but still it is lacking. Without Dhiant’s light I am hollow. Without my horns I am powerless. Without my throne I am common. And without my pride? Without my pride I am dangerous.
Sil is nicking at it like a little pest.
“I’m warning you, Sil. Shut up, won’t you?”
“Whoa.” Sil pauses at the fence of the house two doors down from hers and squints at me. “You were right, demon. Your eyes are sorta red, aren’t they? Blacky red.”
Is that all? Has she decided to heel? Wise choice, Sil.
Things are fine. I begin to contain myself. Killing her would be satisfying, but she knows of a place to research the symbol. It would be inconvenient to kill her now. I resolve to ebb.
Until she foolishly adds, “Must mean you’re all hot and bothered, pancake. You know, if you wanna go back inside and take her up on her offer –”
That’s it. I can hold back my fury no longer.
I seize Sil’s shoulders and push her against her neighbor’s neighbor’s fence. Before I can think, my hand is on her neck. On her small, tender, easily breakable neck.
Once she catches up with what is happening, her body goes stiff. “D-demon boy?”
My hand is on her throat, but my fingers do not close.
The sun is warm on my neck, though the day is cool. Likewise, Sil’s neck is warm, though my skin is chilled. To squeeze would be satisfying. To squeeze her neck would be a release. If I do so, however, then that’s the end. I’ll have failed. My horns will be lost. My return to Dhiant will be forever out of reach.
Well so what? I say to hell with all of it! If my father won’t let me return, I’ll go on a killing rampage until his attention is caught! Until he can no longer ignore it! I will massacre my way back into Dhiant!
“W-Wayst?” Sil looks at me and is afraid. Truly afraid of me for the first time. Good girl, Sil. This is the way you should have felt from the beginning.
My body casts a shadow on her, blocking her from the sun. In a similar way, I will cast a shadow of death on her lifelight. For Sil, this is the end.
I intake a breath in preparation for the act – that which I have lusted after; that which will be more satisfying than anything – but as I do, my head shifts backwards just enough to allow a bit of sun to find Sil’s eyes. Blue. Attractive, magical blue. How can such a grotesque person hold hidden beauty of this quality?
While I am distracted for a minute, I can’t shake the urge. I am angry. Frustrated. My hand wants to destroy her. My everything wants to squash her. I must kill her.
ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I go in for the kill.
And at the last minute, my hand slides. It slides from the front of her neck and takes up residence at the side nape, for I have just done something unexplainable.
I have just kissed Sil.
Beneath my lips Sil makes a sound like a confused duck. She is too startled to push or slide or wiggle away. Her lips are soft and chilled from the brisk air. Though she wears no makeup, her chapstick is minty. Like her scent. Like her taste. Sil tastes as good as she smells. The chapstick is artificial compared to her natural flavor. My thumb finds her cheek. My free hand finds her waist.
Siiiil.
I pull my face from hers. I have not strangled her, but my tight chest has loosened. I have been relieved. How? And also, why? Why didn’t I follow through? Why did I resort to . . . But thinking about the kiss makes me want to go back for seconds.
Sil is clearly not up for it. Holding her neck in one hand, she stares at the ground angrily and pushes her hair behind her ear with her other. “Okaaay, crazy. What the heck was that? You DID just kiss me, right? I didn’t imagine that?”
“I . . .”
She locks eyes with me and wipes her mouth on her shoulder. I feel doltish. “Your punishment,” I recover. “For ticking me off.”
Sil is dense. She buys it easily. “Oh. Well, you didn’t have to go that far, perv.”
I place a finger beneath her chin. “I can do it again . . . if you’d like.” Despite the fact that I’m now playing with her, I can’t help but notice that I desire to follow through.
That’s different. What the fruck is wrong with me?
Fruck? Again? Sigh. I have to get home.
Sil doesn’t take me up on the offer. She merely touches her lip and says, “Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“Nothing, I just thought . . .”
“Well?” I prod.
“I just thought kissing would be . . . never mind.”
What the hell does that mean? She thought kis
sing would be . . . BETTER? Appalling! I’m a perfectly practiced kisser! I’ve loved masses of women in Dhiant and they’ve all enjoyed it fine enough. There’s something wrong with Sil. That aside, her statement suggests that . . . this was her first kiss? Such a short lifespan and this was her first kiss? What the hell has she been doing with her time?
But she won’t give me the decency of elaboration. She pushes onward to the library.
We walk in silence the rest of the way there. Down First Main. Past the neat, chain-linked yard. Past the school. Cut across the fields to Second Main – where lies the library. A dilapidated brick building with barred windows. Barred windows? That isn’t normal for human establishments, is it? This was quite possibly a city jail at one point.
A bell rings to signal our entrance.
Inside are ceiling-high shelves housing threadbare books and standing upon a carpet that is as dirty and scratchy as sand; at the far back sits a librarian appearing ready to keel at any moment; and to the front are a few round tables for studying alongside a pair of ancient green-screen computers.
Yeah, lot of good this junker will do us.
What’s worse, the bell isn’t the only thing to signal our entrance. “There you are!” The moronic voice of a puff pudge boy calls out to Sil joyfully. Thankfully he is gleeful to be spending time with her only until he sees that I am also along. At that point his tone becomes deliciously sour. “Oh. You brought him.”
“Careful, Keek. Piss him off and he might try to kiss you,” says Sil.
Cute, Sil. Cute.
Keek curls his lip. “What?”
“The perversion is strong in this one,” Sil adds in a strange, cartoonish voice.
Outlandish. Keek and I become locked in a battle of glares. “I wasn’t aware your minion would be joining us,” I say curtly.
“Did I forget to mention? Silly me?” Wicked Sil slithers away to speak with the librarian. Keek waits until she is out of earshot before running his mouth.